


Better To Reign In Hell (than serve in heaven)

by SalamanderInk



Series: Unholy Trinity [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, BAMF Tony Stark, Deal with a Devil, Does it count as Major Character Death when you follow the character into the afterlife?, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic Tony stark, Merchant of Death Tony Stark, Pre-Iron Man 1, Sugar Demon Loki, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, demon loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderInk
Summary: For years, people had spat on him, screaming at him that there was a place in Hell reserved just for him, for the Merchant of Death with his bloody hands, and that no matter how prettily he acted before them it would never change.But Tony had only laughed, and laughed, andlaughed.If only they knew.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Unholy Trinity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529549
Comments: 34
Kudos: 484





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebifrostgiant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebifrostgiant/gifts).



> Once again many thanks to Frosti, who not only cheer-read for me all throughout this adventure in the demon lands, but also sparked the idea for this summary that was frankly killing me. (To be fair, it rather fit with the theme, soooo)  
> Also, thanks a lot to my beta [Lynds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds) who did an amazing job and was really pretty fast about it too!

Tony wasn’t worried. 

He’d been waiting for this, expecting it, planning for it. 

He was _prepared_ . 

He had no reason to be scared. 

But he was however pretty damn nervous. 

It wasn’t everyday, after all, that one left their mortal coil, never to come back. 

Tony had had a fulfilling life, He’d done everything he’d ever wanted to do, enjoyed all the luxuries the modern world could offer. He’d forged his own legacy, independent from the one of his father. He’d be remembered throughout History as the man who revolutionised energy and saved mankind from the threat of environmental collapse, the one who single handedly brought his country back from the brink of civil war and social decay by instituting privately funded social services and access for health care, education, shelter and living expenses for _all._ He’d privatised world peace. 

He’d left behind a multitude of patents and inventions to be released after his death, some to become public domain, others to help out a few of his friends. 

He’d been lauded as a saint, a hero, a hypocrite, a demagogue. 

None of them could understand that he didn’t care one whit what the people thought. 

He was Tony Stark. He did what he wanted. 

And he had all the approval he could ever yearn for from his lover. 

Loki had tacitly approved of everything that he’d ever wanted to do. Supported him where he could, laughed with him at the frenzy his actions turned the media into. At the wild rumors and ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d held him close the few times the headlines hit too close to home and actually hurt. Soothed him when he felt the cold dread of an assassination attempt that got a little too threatening. 

He’d then left for a few hours, and arrived back at the penthouse, loose and predatory, smelling of blood and gasoline. The sex had been excellent, as had been the nonchalant certainty in Loki’s voice when he’d said that the perpetrator wouldn’t been touching him. 

Tony hadn’t asked. But he’d been able to sleep soundly afterwards, knowing his ‘guardian angel’ was watching over him. 

Living with Loki as his partner had been the easiest and most fulfilling thing in his life. There had been fights, games, great sex and the knowledge of eons past to discover and explore. 

Then there had been Loki himself. 

After more than six decades spent together, Tony could well and truly say that he loved his demon. 

He’d been _in love_ with him a few times too. 

Sometimes the feeling appeared in his breast for a few days, weeks, years, that strange passionate fascination, that hopeless devotion that made his heart beat too fast and his thoughts muddle with longing and affection. 

More often than not it settled in something deeper, quieter, the unshakable and comfortable kind of love that could outlast centuries. 

Meeting Loki had been the best thing to happen to him. 

Even though he’d only seeked him at first to arrange for his afterlife, Loki had entangled himself in his every living moment, down to his heart and soul. 

Tony could no longer imagine what life would be without him. Loki was his one constant, the person who’d been there through it all, and would still be there after it. 

So he wasn’t scared. 

When Loki had come to him the night before, his face solemn and his voice hushed, telling him that his time had come, Tony hadn’t freaked out. He hadn’t screamed or pleaded or broken down clinging to what had been and wailing over regrets. 

He had no regrets. 

He’d done what he’d wanted, he’d accomplished all that he cared to, been true to himself and enjoyed every moment. 

There were still things he would miss. The home he’d made for himself and Loki, the memories shared there. 

But he would not cling to those. 

Nor would he cling to his Heaven-bound friends. 

Loki had laughed, a bittersweet and wry thing, when Tony had last spoken of Heaven. Certainly, with all the good Tony had done, he could have followed them there had he not bound his soul to an infernal creature. Did he ever regret that, not being able to follow his friends into the light?

But as always, Tony had laughed the thought away. He had no regrets, no wish for eternal light and the dominion of some otherworldly entity who could choose to let him fall anytime he stepped out of line. Tony was always his own master, his own man. He did what he wanted and the only reason he followed Rhodey’s moral code as his own was because he _wanted to._

Anyways, Heaven had no Loki, and Tony refused to entertain the thought of a life without his demonic companion. 

He’d made his choice decades before and never had the slightest reason to regret it. He would follow Loki to the depth of Hell, literally, and even beyond if he ever had to. 

So no. Tony didn’t fear Death. Nor had he tried to delay it himself, though being a demon’s lover had its perks, one of which was a great boon of health and vitality. 

It didn’t make him any less nervous. 

Would dying hurt? Would the travel be difficult? How would it happen? What was it like?

Tony had no clue, mostly because no one had ever died and come back to tell the tale. 

NDE’s didn’t count. He’d asked Loki, who’d given him an hour long lecture on what counted as near death, true death, and esoteric death, the magical and energetics aspects of each, and what exactly crossing over meant. 

But Loki couldn’t offer him anything beyond the theory of it, he explained, since he himself was not a mortal creature. He had never and could never die as he was tied to the essence of Creation itself. 

But Tony was still mortal, his _body_ had an expiration date, and he would reach it the next day. 

It was jarring. _Knowing_ was jarring. 

Tony didn’t think mortals were meant to know these things. He’d always looked dubiously at the doctors giving people estimates of life expectancy, figuring the mind was perfectly able of enacting self-fulfilling prophecy. 

This wasn’t the case here, he knew. 

The magic coursing through his veins had been as much of a blessing as a curse, healing the damage he’d done to himself and yet taking its toll on a mortal shell not made to channel the powers from the Beyond. 

Tony had known the risks, hadn’t cared. He’d used them anyway, the same way he used too fast cars and dangerous thrills. 

Loki had frowned, worried but respectful of his choices. Tony wanted to burn bright and fast, wanted to live his life to the fullest. He wanted to play with this dangerous tool, as carefully as he could, as fascinated as the moth to its beautiful flame. 

What luck that Icarius would find himself a winged lover to catch his fall? 

He’d wanted to be able to use that power already when he reached Hell. 

His life had been much longer than he’d ever expected anyways. Eighty five was a more than respectable age. 

He’d felt none of the aches and failings of old age, he’d hardly been wounded in any grievous ways, and certainly not with his worried lover clucking at him like a mother-hen and healing him with a flash of golden lights. Come to think of it, Loki had probably healed the magic’s damage as well. 

No, he had nothing to complain about. 

But he was nervous. 

He could prepare all he wanted, could be as much of a daredevil in life as one could while still remaining standing on the other side, but then. This wasn’t quite the same thing, was it?

Everyone was scared of death on some level. It was the animal part of them, something buried deep inside their brain, down to the structure of the self. It was what had made life itself possible, that survival instinct that made sure that everyone did their best to preserve themselves. 

And Tony knew, he’d done his best. 

And he wouldn’t let such a small thing as death run him scared. He wouldn’t let it stop him. 

But now, there was nothing he could do, nothing to plan for, to scheme with. He was supposedly prepared already. He certainly was more than any other mortal before him. But could one ever truly be ready for that? 

Perhaps it was the waiting that was hardest, the anticipation. 

Tony trusted Loki. His affairs were in order, his farewells made. He’d been planning for this for sixty years. There was nothing more he could do. 

Now if he could only tell that to his brain. 

Perhaps cuddling against his demon lover could distract him from his nervousness long enough to sleep?

Loki was watching him from the couch, carefully monitoring his reactions while letting him process the news. Tony knew perfectly well that his partner would intervene should it look that he was spiralling downwards, but he still appreciated the space. 

And he appreciated the willing embrace comforting him when Tony went to cuddle into his side. 

“I thought I wouldn’t be scared.” 

Loki’s fingers carded gently through his hair. He stayed quiet, letting him talk. Tony felt strangely comforted by that. But then, it wasn’t really that strange at all. Over the years, they’d learned each other pretty well, certainly enough to navigate each other’s moods safely. 

“I’ve got nothing to fear, I know. I know you’re there, you’ll be waiting. I _trust you._ Why am I scared?”

Loki pressed a soft kiss to his brow. Tony breathed out, shakily. He breathed in. 

His nerves were settling. He hadn’t known he’d been so... _scared_ until he’d said it. 

He was Tony Stark, the man who ran before he walked, the one throwing himself headfirst into dangerous situations every other day, jumped off his building in a tin can _for fun,_ negotiated with cutthroats and tyrants with a cocky smirk in his face and a swagger to his step. 

He was scared of nothing, least of all death. 

Except that he was. 

Tilting his head back to gaze up at Loki’s patient face, he smirked self-deprecatingly. 

Loki had known he would be scared. 

“Just when I had started forgetting that I’m only human, huh? Living up here in my ivory tower, gazing up at the sun and flying up on my waxen wings. One starts forgetting the small things. I hadn’t thought I’d fallen to that particular hubris.” 

But Loki only smiled back, kindly, sadly. 

“You haven’t. Change is always scary. I might not know what death feels like, but _Falling…”_

His red eyes took on a faraway look, something haunted and infinitely grieved crossing his face. 

“Being scared is normal. But you’re not alone.”

And at that, Tony could only smile, reaching up to cup a soft blue cheek. 

“Thank you.” 

He closed his eyes, taking a bracing breath before looking back at his lover, a determined glint to his eyes that would brook no more dithering and nervousness. 

He was Tony Stark. Throwing himself into the unknown was an occupational hazard and a calling card, not something to cower before. 

“You’re right, I’m not alone. And I have another ace up my sleeve, one that that nothing can take away from me and that is most precious than anything else. Do you know what that is?”

Loki shook his head, entertained by his antics. He good naturedly let Tony pull his head down for a sweet kiss, a mere brush of lips. 

A whisper breathed in the air between them, a secret shared upon his lover’s skin. 

“I have _Faith. In you.”_


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, one truly had to run before they could walk. 

Tony had been scared, but, truly, dying was a little like leaping down a great height, that strange feeling of apesanteur,  _ of weightlessness _ one got when everything inside them lifted out of their chest. 

He wasn’t scared anymore. Waiting alongside the newly dead, their wails and entreaties, the way they cowered before the cloaked being collecting them, and yet still begged for their lives… 

It only exacerbated how unconcerned he truly was about this. Tony wouldn’t be like that. Could not, really. It wasn’t his nature. 

He had nothing to fear, after all. 

And even if he did, he was much more dignified than that. 

There were outliers, of course. The journey was long, the people reaped alongside of him were many, and even as they moved steadily downwards, swarms of them kept rejoining their ever expanding crowd. 

So he could see those whose eyes spit fire and brimstone, rage in the clenching of their jaw; and those others quietly watchful, observing, laying in wait. There were a few hiding behind a false arrogance that kept their terror barely hidden, those were the kinds of monsters that never had to fear before. 

He could recognize their types, all of them. He’d shaken hands with many people just like them, made business with them, and then, when he could ensure that it could never be traced back to him, made them fall, one after the other, toppling those giants like dominoes and relishing in their despair. 

Tony could absolutely believe that the soul supply in Tartarus never ran out. 

So he walked along, casually, alongside those who blustered and screamed and watched. 

He was the only one relaxed. 

He was the only one before whom the reaper had pause, saying “You could go  _ up.” _

And he was the only one who smiled. Like a shark, like the cat eating the canary and the cream both, like someone casually strolling down Central Park and watching people feed the ducks. 

No, Tony wasn’t scared anymore. 

He had  _ faith.  _

***

Their congregation arrived at the bank of a river, following the grim figure of the cloak clad being. 

Tony was walking alongside of them, one of the firsts of the souls in the crowd, the only one that actually seemed eager to move forward. 

And why wouldn’t he? He had someone waiting for him on the other side. 

So when the ferry appeared from the fog, worthy of any ghost ship produced by every hollywood rip-off on the planet, he had a front row seat. He didn’t hesitate to board along with the reaper, nor did he have trouble handing over the coin to pay for his passage. And three more, for  _ his passengers.  _

The coal looked deep into his soul, silent, grave, as they deliberated whether they would allow it. 

They should. Their laws said nothing against such. So long as a soul was paid for, it may cross. There was no mention of  _ what form _ said soul would take. 

Still, Tony held his breath. 

It was a gamble, and while Tony had always been willing to play with his life, it was quite another matter when his creations were on the line. ‘His children’, Loki had called them, and while Tony had loudly protested the idea of himself associated in any manner to  _ fatherhood,  _ he couldn’t help but find the statement rather...accurate. On some level. 

And now, the reaper held their continued existence in his hands. 

Should Tony feel guilty for making them cross with him? Perhaps. But it was done now. And already the cloaked being was turning away, looking to the next specter, asking them for their toll. 

Tony breathed out, letting go of the last of his nerves as he stepped forward, onto the boat. 

This place was peculiar. He felt as though, should he glimpse it through the corner of his eye, it would  _ shift,  _ distorting into something other, unnamed. A kaleidoscope of appearances all showing the same thing, in different manners. 

Tailored to their expectations, Tony suspected. He wondered at that. Expectations and plans. How much did one build their life upon them? And how come even death was influenced by them?

All those years ago, he’d performed a ritual expecting to be hell bound, and yet he’d been told, twice now, that his soul could have gone  _ up _ just as well, and decided to go down regardless. He’d expected someone unpredictable in Loki, and he’d gotten all his heart’s deepest desires. He’d expected his life made of successes and he’d gotten it. 

But perhaps one truly  _ did _ obtain what they wished for, what they expected to get, if only because that was what their mind was aiming for? 

Death was making him maudlin. 

He wondered at his one humanities class in MIT, about philosophy. He’d read about Plato’s cavern and the shadows people thought as truth. Was this what it had meant? A world cloaked in ever shifting illusions, not showing the truth? What would happen if Tony were to wish for that instead? To expect the sight to be as it truly was instead of what his upbringing had taught him to expect? 

Something rebelled in his mind, the certainty that once he’d taken a glimpse of Truth, never could he unsee it, never could he see the pretty coverings that made the sight bearable. Lovecraftian warnings echoed in his ears, omens of madness and abominations, portends of a sight that would cripple him in its monstrosity.

Did Tony dare? He was curious after all, had always been. And he was too clever to let himself fall to such a trick as echoes of the mind. Eldritch horrors were another form that the place could take of course, but it was yet another expectation. 

He was bored with these proceedings. The being was fast, impossibly so, but Tony had never been good with waiting. A man of his standing never really had much cause to, since most things could be brought to him near instantly just through the power of money, and what he couldn’t, Loki often got for him anyways. 

He might have gotten too used to that. Things taking place almost instantly, people at his beck and call. He’d known of course, that his situation could not remain the same upon his death. 

He’d taken steps for that. 

He hadn’t expected to fall in love with Loki. 

He hadn’t known, in fact, that he could even love at all. 

Death was truly messing with his mind if he was admitting this to himself. 

Tony shivered, tearing his gaze away from the sea of souls, from the river of the dead, from the grim figure floating amongst the masses. 

Everywhere he looked, those shades were there, anguished cries and terrified sobs, all those weeping to go back to their lives, to their loved ones, to the heaven they’ve been denied. 

Tony was not like them. 

He had no one to go back to. No one mourning him truly, except perhaps for a handful of mortals that saw in him something that didn’t truly exist. Perhaps he would be an afterthought. 

Sentiment. 

He cared not about those. He had accomplished all he’d set out to do. He had made his name one that would be remembered through the ages, and it was one he could be proud of. 

He had created more wonders than anyone else in his century, and…

Why was he justifying himself? 

Was this yet another trick of the mind brought by this place? 

Tony was satisfied with the mark he’d left, and there didn’t need to be more to it than that. He answered to no one and no one had the right to judge him. 

A low rumbling laugh echoed through his limbs, a thunderous laughter, mockingly amused even as a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders, like a cloud passing by and letting the sun through again. 

Tony shuddered, wary and irritated at the gall of the spy, disgust crawling down his spine at the thought that someone had touched his mind in such an insidious manner. His hand clenched on the ghostly bannister, distrustful now that he’d seen such a subtle manipulations of his person. 

He wondered how many people had noticed the pernicious influence through the ages. Was that being the one that handed out sentences to the ‘sinners’? If so, what was the price for picking up on their little trick. 

“...no price…”

Swirling around, Tony looked into the surrounding darkness, trying to find the source of the voice. None of the other ghosts seemed to be picking up on them. 

“...mortal…”

Tony shivered as the voice came from his other side, a multitude of small whispers blending together to make one voice from many. It was positively  _ spooky,  _ which, considering that he was now a spook himself, was saying something. 

No price then. And what? Did they just regularly take a dip into the mind of new arrivals, asking them for their life stories? 

The voice echoed, a whispery, chittering laugh that sent a cold thrill down his spine even as it broke apart in whispers. It felt like fog, in fact everything felt foggy. Even his own mind. 

Tony brushed a hand over his wristband. It held the souls of Jarvis, Dum-E and U, Loki had helped building it. There was nothing more he could do, beyond taking with him his bot’s soulless husks, knowing that the empty metal would not register as an intruder upon Tartarus’s ground. Their living souls  _ had.  _

He forced himself to breathe, noting that he couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. 

The dead didn’t need breath, after all. 

It was strange. He didn’t feel dead, didn’t  _ look _ dead. But then, he knew better than to expect himself to become Casper. 

He wasn’t even translucent, though he still shone with Loki’s bestowed light. He’d noticed as he left his body the the light had remained with his soul but had vanished from his corpse. 

How strange to think of himself like that. His corpse. What was he, then? His ghost?

He pressed his palm against the place in his chest where his glow rested, hidden under the cover of by his best suit. How could that even work? The cloth was no more corporeal than he was. Shouldn’t the light come through as if it were nothing? 

The thought was enough for a soft blue light to surround him, soft, soothing. 

Tony felt himself breathe easier, as absurd as it seemed. He no longer had lungs, how did breathing still alleviate his anxiety? 

But it worked, and the light was there, Loki’s gift so that he always had a way to find himself, so that he never found himself lost in the abyss as his demon had been. 

Gratefulness welled up in Tony’s throat, filling his being with even more light, until he became a star unto himself. 

The ship dissolved around him, as did the countless souls, the river and the whispers, fading away in a scream and a whimper, the illusion shattering under his light.

He looked around, watching the barren plains, and the large gates. 

So  _ this  _ was what laid under that illusion?

He smiled, wryly. 

He hadn’t expected that when he’d claimed faith as his primary weapon, but he couldn’t say he found himself dissatisfied with the results. 

His light was shining over him, the glow coursing through the same markings his demon king had so lovingly painted over his skin so long ago, those that echoed his own and claimed him as undeniably  _ Loki’s. _

He wondered what the demon guards would make of him, a tiny human soul bearing their King’s sigils and lines. Carrying his magic. 

He would figure it out soon enough. 

Looking at his shining palms and the way they banished the gloom, Tony let himself smirk slowly. 

After all, there was nothing to fear. 

He had  _ faith.  _


	3. Chapter 3

People everywhere… were all the same. Even when they were demons as tall as mountains with scraggly red skin, they could still be dumb as brick and just as easy to manipulate. 

It would have of course been easier had he not been one of those souls that they usually considered as a snack. 

But that wasn’t anything that could stop Tony Stark. 

He’d made it his business to have people eating in the palm of his hand since he’d come out of the cradle. Getting a pair of lumbering brutes to bring him to Loki was child’s play. 

This was not the plan, Tony knew, but then he wasn’t supposed to have broken through the illusion either. His passage had been approved already, which should have been enough. 

He only had to find Loki. Or the other souls. Whichever came first. 

But his burly escorts could prove invaluable amongst that unknown land. At least until he found his true protector. There was hardly anything stopping the two for trying to take a bite out of him. 

He did have a few aces up his sleeves, of course, and he rather thought that they would not dare touch him with Loki’s blessing upon his brow. 

He wasn’t too worried. 

Something told him his lover wouldn’t be too hard to find. Even without his escorts. 

There was a strange feeling tingling through his fingers, a force guiding his steps. He could easily ignore it, but when he paid attention, when he allowed it to guide him, it sent him steadily forward in a precise direction. And the more he walked, the more defined the feeling became, the more insistent the pull. 

Loki was pacing, fretting in his own quiet and discreet way. Tony smiled, at the image. He was still far, but his demon’s magic was guiding him, guarding and sheltering at once. 

He could work with that. 

The ground was a strange mixture of hard unbroken stone and small pointy pebbles . Walking over it was easy, though one had to beware the slipperiness, thousands of tiny pebbles rolling over each other and siding down the slopes. 

It was grey. Everything was grey, with a strange red cast over it. There was no sun, no sky. It gave a whole new meaning to barrenness. Or blighted. Had anything ever grown upon that scraggly rock?

Tony didn’t feel tired, he was no longer a mortal bound to the limitations and constraints of a human shell. 

But he could find his mind tiring, boredom slowly overtaking his will, and the dullness of the place seeping into his bones. Immaterial bones. Soul. 

Whichever it was, Tony was getting rather tired of it. 

Was that hollow plain yet another trick of this frankly  _ irritating _ place? Would he walk for an infinite amount of time without ever getting anywhere, like happened in dreams? Was he not there yet because he didn’t  _ expect _ himself to be there yet? 

Perhaps Tony should treat this as a dreamscape. With his glowing palms held lighting his path, he stopped, seeing the two guards blur and look at him hungrily. 

If they thought he was giving up on his quest, they had another thing coming. Tony Stark never gave up. 

However, he was a genius, and a rather impatient one at that. 

If something he was trying to do showed no results, then it meant it was time to try another method. 

He concentrated on the well of power resting right inside his ribcage, the familiar and reassuring purr that had carried over in death even when his own heartbeat hadn’t, the low hum that pulsed through him constantly, his lover’s magic resting inside his heart. 

He wanted a door. A gateway, from this place where he was to that place where Loki was. 

Opening a portal within the same realm must be child’s play compared to the metaphysic headache that was bending the laws of reality enough to build a stable link across dimensions. 

‘The two lugs didn’t exist,’ whispered his-Loki’s- _ their shared magic _ , or perhaps  _ he _ whispered to  _ it, _ and it became Truth. 

They were illusions, had always been illusions, a distraction, a lure. A way for him to patiently follow a given path, but he  _ knew the way,  _ knew where his— _ their _ — other half was.  _ They would find their demon half, their King. Their lover.  _

The air shimmered before him, slowly bending to his will. This place wasn’t letting him move forward, wasn’t letting him move on… Then he would make his  _ own _ way, and screw everyone else. 

He was Tony Stark. He lived by no rule but his own. 

Not even Hell’s. 

Brow furrowing in concentration, he traced in the air the eldritch symbols that called forth the energy of travel, the path and the lover, the traveler and the wanderer’s luck. What was the path, from where to where, what connected the two points. 

Beads of phantom sweat appeared upon his brow, as calculation after equation strained his mind. His focus remained unwavering as he kept building his spell, weaving it into the fabric of the realm. The calculations blended with the symbolism of translations, followed by transcriptions into a four-dimensional figure that he traced through the air with a glowing fingertip, steady hand leaving glowing tracks in the air, slowly shaping his spell, feeding it a steady stream of power. 

Hellheim’s own magic bucked against his intrusion, rejecting his interference, lashing out harshly against this impudent trespasser that hoped to somehow bypass her challenges. 

Tony gritted his teeth in a smile. 

Finally a true challenge! 

His hands blurring under the shine, Tony’s mind soaring with what felt like adrenaline—could ghosts even create adrenaline?—he slowly pushed back against the onslaught, the gargantuan force of the realm sparkling violent bursts of pain against his discorporated skin. 

Tony felt incredibly  _ alive.  _

He’d always liked danger. 

And he was damned—hah!—if he was going to lose a contest of wills against an egotistical piece of  _ rock. _

He was Tony Stark. He did not lose. 

Slowly, his spell sank hooks into the gigantic yet clumsy wave of Tartarus’s power, deepening its hold until it was anchored there, unshakable part of it. 

Wherever Tony was into the realm, he would be able to find his way to Loki. 

The realm groaned, whined, shivered under the foreign energy within her own core, before rippling, slowly, gently, then increasingly loudly. She was laughing almost hysterically, eddies of gentle magic carried through the air shaking with the power of her mirth. A dense fog of magic rose from the bare rock ground thickening until it enclosed Tony from all sides, caging him in. 

It swamped him, flowed over him, through him, choking and drowning him in her foreign power. 

Tony jerked back at first, momentary panic making him retreat from the foreign presence, but it was surprisingly… non-hostile. 

It felt warm, and strangely homey. And just as mischievous as his own lover. 

_ ‘Normal. Similar to her King. Welcoming to his Consort.’  _

Their magic echoed, twanging together in mock battle, sparks coming from inside Tony’s heart as their magic protested the trick, protested the boat and the desert and the reapers.  _ What right did the realm have to trick their chosen so? _

Soft laughter, gentle nudges. 

_ ‘Worthy mate, worthy soul. Blessed Consort.’ _

Tony was left shivering under the sheer pressure of the realm’s enormous might, crushed under her sheer magnitude, but he could still  _ think,  _ still listen. 

And it seemed as though his entire trip coming in was her own equivalent of a shovel talk mixed with a test to his mettle. 

He wasn’t sure he liked it, to be fair. 

He’d had his fair share of people trying to test him in life. Shareholders looking to make him fall, other businessmen looking for a weakness. Reporters searching for their next story, hoping for a headline.

Few though, had tried that to see if he was  _ worthy.  _ Most were looking instead for his  _ failings. _

Oh, Tony knew he had many. But none were ever something he would let them even  _ see,  _ let alone pick at, like the vultures they were. 

He didn’t quite know what to think of the realms interference there. 

Though, he knew, having her approval would certainly come in handy. Her… _ blessing? _

Old as she was, and so foreign to him, Tony barely understood the mixture of intonations and vibrations, raw intent more than the carefully cultivated rhythm he’d spent the past sixty years learning in order to communicate better with the magic Loki had shared with him. 

But then, what he understood felt perhaps  _ deeper.  _ As though there was a Truth to it, one that spoke of the essence of reality itself. 

It was the sort of voice that separated darkness from light, chaos from matter. 

He shivered once more under that awe-worthy scrutiny, wondering what it was, then that made this place the Abyss and not heaven with golden halls. It did not seem cold or evil, not even harsh in her manner. 

Underhanded, yes. Or maybe heavy handed? Perhaps both. But not… cruel. 

_ ‘Because she likes you.’  _

Perhaps. Tony supposed Hell’s King’s magic would know Hell’s... _ soul _ better than he. 

Slowly the overbearing presence left his core, his mind, letting him rise once more, lifting from his huddling upon the still barren rock. 

Curiosity niggled at his mind as he looked around once the fog started dissolving once more. 

Was there  _ truly _ no vegetation upon this realm at all? 

Low ripples of otherworldly earthshaking chuckles answered his stray thought. 

_ ‘Perhaps...Consort...change.’ _

Tony blinked. This made no sense. 

None at all. 

And he certainly did not feel warm or boltered by the realm’s faith, the way she’d just given him leave to make his mark upon her surface. 

He could remember the tale, though, of Hades’s bride, goddess of flowers and spring, and her place at Hell’s King’s side for all of eternity. 

He didn’t know what to think that this was what Tartarus seemed to expect from him. Or perhaps it wasn’t an expectation at all, merely an offer. 

He shivered, looking back at his spell.

It was glowing, red and blue lights crawling over each other, twisting, curling in a truly stunning piece of magical working. 

Too bad Tony could not take credit. 

He’d only left it half formed, the bare bones of a structure, the plan for a construct that the realm had apparently decided to build upon, to strengthen and… and to fix. 

Tony blinked, awed at the incredible skill and mastery of her workings, in the use of incredibly complex and obscure symbols, but also a few simple ones. They seemed like pure common sense now that he saw him laid out before him, but it had never occurred to him to use in this context before. 

The final result was streamlined, a figure so simple in its complexity, so elaborate and yet adaptable, and incredibly stable, he could only stare, exploring it with his eyes and barely daring to touch the incredible work of art before him.

Tony felt the first shivers of admiration brew in his soul, along with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, for the teachings of this ancient creature whose knowledge and experience dwarfed his own so much that he couldn’t even help feeling insignificant in her presence anymore. 

Even Tony Stark could admit himself beat, sometimes. 

But there was something else into the structure of that spell.

There were six shiny beads of power embedded deep into the structure, holding it together and anchoring it into the land. 

Six pomegranate seeds. 


	4. Chapter 4

Loki was waiting for him when he crossed what was probably now his own personal gateway. He looked relieved and happy and somehow harried. 

He was not alone. 

The gate had opened in what looked like a throne room, along with ripples of power, both his own and Hell’s own, announcing the Realm’s Chosen Consort with a flair that Tony couldn’t help but appreciate. 

He stepped down upon the polished stone floor, descending as a debutante did from the stairs after her introduction, showing off the glowing marks branding him as Loki’s own, broadcasting his own power as well as the one bestowed upon him. 

He smiled, like the shark he was, at the sight of all those demons crowding his King, those curious wretches trying so hard to get him to give them the time of day. But Tony knew he wouldn’t. Not ever. 

Because Loki’s eyes were turned to  _ him,  _ his whole attention revolving upon Tony like the moon around the Earth, his red gaze warm and just as fascinated this day as it had been on the day they’d first met. 

What else could Tony do then but ignore the crowd and give them a show of what they were missing?

He was missing his scandals already. 

He may not be able to screw with Earth’s reporters’ minds anymore, at least not as himself from beyond the grave—though his secret files were sure to make a few tongues wag at some point— however he sure as hell— _ Hah!  _ That would never get old—was going to enjoy messing with these boot lickers. 

Sashaying close to his lover, he looked at him from under his lashes, letting his languid stare show exactly what he wanted from his demon lover. 

And indeed, Loki leaned back on his throne, giving Tony the room he needed to casually straddle his lap and sling his arms over the strong blue shoulders he’d gotten to know so well over the past decade. 

He liked biting them. 

It was a very reciprocated sentiment. 

Tony’s smile turned fond for a moment, reminiscence tempting him to give in to sweetness for a moment, but no. He had a show to put on. 

His mischievousness was echoed in Loki’s eyes, a mutual challenge daring the other to make them lose control first, a show of dominance battling over worthless stakes. 

Outrage would be had whoever won, and none would truly care. Nonetheless, the thrill of the game, the deep hunger to take and take from the other, and let themselves be taken in turn, all of that made them want to play, to match wills and battle their way through their love and affection, to make their reunion a clash of wills as much as flesh. 

Slowly, almost gently, Tony cradled Loki’s head, cupping his jaw with a palm that still showed calluses from his years working metals, the glow from Loki’s magic gently lighting the blue face as he looked up to him, letting his human consort take more liberties with his person than he’d allowed in  _ centuries.  _

And Tony  _ knew that.  _ He  _ loved _ it, loved the power Loki gave him, love the way his demon just  _ let him _ .

Just as Loki loved the way Tony submitted to his  _ own _ desires, the way he bent over so very prettily, looked at him so sweetly, and let his,  _ their _ magic thrust him from one orgasm to the next on Loki’s word. The way he whimpered and ached and  _ begged for more. _

They fit each other so well. They complemented each other almost perfectly. 

And Loki only embraced him closer, letting clawed blue hands squeeze his ass and grind their hips together, their lips locking in passion, sliding over each other’s caressing, biting, licking. He whined, leaning back against the throne’s back, slumping down until Tony was almost laying over him, giving the gobsmacked demons the exact show the former mortal had been hoping to give. 

And Tony wanted more. Wanted the future Tartarus had made him glimpse, a place at Loki’s side as an equal. A status where he could influence the realm’s ruling. A way to make his own mark there. 

He was Tony Stark. He was made to be at the top of the world. 

Question was, would it even be possible? 

The glimpse of a red eye glared down at their audience as Loki tilted his head from behind Tony’s, terrifying the stragglers into hastily leaving the room, rushing to the door in a mad scramble, almost trampling each other in their haste to get the hell out before their king lost his patience and simply smited them down where they stood. 

The great gates rang shut. The room was there and with the return of their privacy, a gentling of their kiss. The frantic devouring slowly morphed into a soft exploration, relearning each other until they felt that they had their fill. They never truly did, but then they did need air. 

Except that Tony didn’t anymore. 

He still needed Loki, so much that even a single day without him felt bland and tasteless, but now he didn’t even need  _ air _ anymore. 

Tony started laughing at the irony of it all, at how ridiculous his life—and death—had become. 

Leaning back from Loki’s lap he looked down at his lover. Blue skin and red eyes, decked out in golden regalia, and smiled back at the softness he could see in that face. 

His King of Hell, so fearsome demons cowered before him, so powerful he could command them with a single look. 

And yet, Tony knew Loki would never harm him. 

He blinked as something caught the corner of his eye. 

There, on the backseat of Loki’s throne, six glowing red beads. 

Seeds, he recognized, from a pomegranate. 

Those same ones that Tartarus had built his gateway spell upon. 

Those that, Tony was quite certain, represented Hell’s King’s  _ Bride. _

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Loki’s eyes crinkled in mirth, the mischief of one who somehow managed to  _ propose _ without even once speaking a word. Who had taken Tony’s commitment as an offer, and now gave him a glimpse of his own offer. 

_ ‘Take it or leave it,’ _ those eyes said,  _ ‘but here’s my heart, laid out for you. Here’s my kingdom, yours for the taking, should you wish it.’  _

Swiveling around, looking around the throne room, he could see traces of this, Loki’s symbols of office peppered amongst the stones, and now Tony’s, great red orbs of power adorning the great double doors, the pattern repeated on the great stone columns, on the mosaic on the ground, crowning Loki’s horned snake, or resting in it’s coils, or set deep in its flesh. 

Snapping his head back to Loki, eyes wide and glistening with phantom tears, moved to the depths of his soul, Tony stayed mute, overwhelmed with the enormity of the gesture, the sheer thoughtfulness of it. 

He couldn’t think, only hold on for dear life. 

Tony remembered being the little boy who didn’t even have a place in his own home, who was asked not to even touch the christmas tree because the ornaments were collection pieces, who was an afterthought, a shiny convenient bauble, brought out for family pictures in the press. 

He could remember his missed graduation, his forgotten birthdays, all those times he’d felt so lonely, left out, he’d wondered if anyone would ever care about him at all. 

‘A story of neglect and abandonment,’ the shrink had said? He hadn’t known half of it. 

The only person who  _ had _ been there was Obadiah. And he’d killed the man himself. 

But now his lover, after putting traces of his own presence in Tony’s home, had inscribed his love for Tony in the very  _ walls  _ of his palace. 

He might have been Tony Stark, and had so many things handed to him on a silver platter just because of his last name, but no one had ever done as much for him as Loki had. Never so generously, never without asking for anything in turn. 

Perhaps his expectations had been skewed, but what did that matter? Loki knew of them. Knew that this subtle claim, this way to show how welcome he was, how wanted?

It was the most heartfelt declaration he could ever understand. The most precious gift he could be given. 

Tony shivered, burying his head in the crook of Loki’s neck, trying not to weep at the way his world was shaken by the care and affection this spoke of, the commitment, the kindness. The  _ understanding,  _ because Loki knew what it was doing to him, what it meant for him. 

He’d thought the last of this vulnerability had been burned off him when he’d let Loki’s magic burrow into his soul. 

“What did you think, lover? We’ve been expecting you.” 

And Tony sobbed a laugh at that, because yes, he rather thought Loki had, and perhaps Hell herself as well, and if anything this explained Tartarus’ test a bit better. 

“If this is a proposal, you  _ jerk, _ I still expect to be asked.” 

Loki chuckled at that, knowing it for the surrender it was. 

Slowly, he brushed his hand along Tony’s trembling back, soothing the tremors excess of emotion always brought him to, letting his poor mortal Consort wrangle his wayward feelings. 

Tony much preferred when this state was brought on in much more pleasurable ways, usually involving less clothing and a bed. 

Feelings were messy. 

Glaring up blearily through a mess of tears, he found himself sheltered under the canopy of Loki’s wings, the fluffy mess of midnight feathers having come out during his distraction, curling over him, cradling him in its downy embrace. 

Slowly, Tony relaxed, as fascinated as he ever was by those, their softness and seeming fragility, so delicate and elegant. 

Loki was glowing again, in this small intimate space where there was only the two of them, so close that they were sharing each other’s air, for as much as they didn’t need to breathe.

Their lips a hair’s breadth from touching, their glow reflected in each other’s eyes, Tony thought back on that time, sixty or so years ago, when he’d thought himself at the top of the world. 

He’d been so very wrong, he knew now. He had fame and an insane number in his bank account, and indeed the power to shape the world according to his whims, but he’d been hollow. Like a life model decoy of himself, going through the motion without truly enjoying himself. 

Here and now, settled comfortably on his demon’s lap, looking deep into those gentle red eyes and feeling the affection warming his gut, smiling back at the demon as they teased each other with the promise of a kiss… 

“You know I’d say yes.”

Yes, here he was truly on top of the world. 

And he had the rest of eternity to enjoy it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay posted for the last part of the series (it’s a mini epilogue of pure fluff)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!  
> I hope you enjoyed :3


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